


Decim Anni

by NixDucky



Series: Latin [1]
Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot, Romance, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 03:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixDucky/pseuds/NixDucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will be their tenth set of ten. Their decim anni. And it's just not enough. He will never have enough of her. Written for Livie79's birthday. AU, vamps, oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decim Anni

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Livie79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livie79/gifts).



> This was written for Livie79's birthday. I figure it'll do very well as my first posted Twific.
> 
> And as always, BookwormBaby2580 was my awesome beta.

**decade** **• _n_** **1** a period of ten consecutive years. **2** a group, set, or series of ten.

 

_2021_

Ten years.  That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen her.  Since I’ve held her.  Since I’ve traced her seductive curves with my fingers.  Since I’ve tasted her marble smooth skin.  Since I’ve felt her tight, wet warmth surrounding me completely, until I cannot decipher where I end and where she begins.

This was never my idea.  I cringe at the thought of walking away from her again.  But, she owns me.  And what she says is my law.

It was one hundred years ago today that I found her.  Ten sets of ten.  Today will mark the tenth time I have been with her.  It’s not nearly enough.  Little did I know how my life would change when I first caught scent of the luscious aroma of her blood spilling out, pouring over the humble granite headstone—a sad memorial to the tiny life she had waited for, and then lost.  The site of her, sprawled over the small heap of freshly turned earth, crimson staining her forearms, would have stopped my heart, had it still been beating.  As it was, I was frozen where I stood.  I could hear the slowing of her heart.  Her eyes were closed.  She had shed no tears, yet utter despair surrounded every part of her.  I could no more stop myself from changing her than I could stop myself from existing.  I had attempted the latter, to no avail.  The former would come to pass as surely as I continued to live this half-life.

I watched, as if from outside my body, as I bent over her and sliced into her ivory skin with my teeth.  Her blood, like the finest ambrosia, filled my mouth.  Would it be so bad if I took this life?  After all the lives I had saved?  But something had stopped me.  Perhaps it was the infinitesimal squeeze of her hand on my thigh.  Perhaps it was the forever slowing beat of her heart against my chest.  Perhaps it was the soft-sigh-moan that escaped her lips, as lightly as the last necessary breath that finally left her body three days later.

A year passed, the anniversary marked in the very same graveyard where it had all begun.  A touch, a kiss, a sigh quickly morphed into a thrust, a hiss, a cry.  We came together like tectonic plates, unable to stop the momentum, crashing into one another with desperation and a passion I could never have imagined.  Once again, my existence was irrevocably altered as I watched myself enter this woman.  This creature who had beguiled me so.  I hardly knew who I was if I wasn’t near her. 

“Touch me,” she’d whispered, her breath coming in ragged gasps, although it was unneeded.  “Touch me.”

I’d snaked my hand between our writhing bodies, and pushed and circled and rubbed until I felt her clench around me, gripping and pulling and triggering my own release.  We’d collapsed onto the hard, hallowed ground, her body on top of mine as we panted in unison.

“I love you.”  She’d whispered.  “I’m leaving you.”

I understood.  I knew she could not be tied to a man, not after all she had suffered as a human.  I knew she needed to find her own strength, a strength she could have faith in.  Still, I could barely find the strength within myself to let her go.

Every ten years we meet back here, in the graveyard where it all began.  Where her life ended and where mine was ignited.  We fall into one another, take and give pleasure, and I break every time she leaves.  Tonight will be no different.  But I still cannot find the strength within me to let her go.  So here I am.  Waiting for our tenth set of ten.  Our tenth _decim anni_.

I smell her long before I see her.  My breathing picks up—an instinctive response.  I listen, and look toward the sound of her barely perceptible footfalls.  She approaches me slowly, as if she is afraid I will flee if startled.  As if I could flee from her.  Closer, closer, closer still.  Until her lips are merely one unnecessary breath away from mine.  I close the distance swiftly, locking that breath between us.  She yields to me, giving herself to me completely in a way she hasn’t done before.  No pushing and pulling, just taking.  She is taking everything I give to her and is thus giving me everything.

Once again, I trace her curves, committing them to memory one more time.  As if I could ever forget.  Once again, my mouth covers every inch of her skin, hard and soft, wet and warm.  Once again I watch as my body enters hers.

“Esme.”  I groan.  Her name means home to me.

We both chase our release, and this time it is her hand that comes between us, pushing, circling and rubbing until she gasps and I feel her warmth spasm around me, as I spill into her.  All of me.  I would give her all of me.

“Carlisle.”  She sighs.  The word sounds like home on her lips.  “I love you,” she breathes.  And then she speaks the words I have longed to hear, the words that fuse my soul to hers.  “Stay with me.”

So I do.

 


End file.
